Thursday, April 4, 2013

Who am I?

Who am I?
Sometimes a blade of grass
Cut down by metal,
Blowing freely in the wind,
The weather dictating movement
The mind in line with natural forces
The Earth a bloodstream that courses
Through my shortened self,
The mind it thinks that way some days
And tries to fight emotion off with a stick,
So quick to deny
To try and justify with why
To lie
To die in some ways
A poison, these thoughts,
All emotion
In all land and in all of the oceans
The piece of blade cut down
Kicks up
The wind
The ground
Is just enough
To blow,
As if a horn of truth
A silent muse
No longer refusing
No longer self abusing
No longer using the shortcomings of
Others as if a stick to beat myself down with,
Justification, why?
Acting out of anger
A cry for help—
To accept my truth,
My blade of grass cut down kicks up
The sun breaks through
A reflexive hue
To change
To see if I can undo
The hurt
The pain,
Either way
I vow to refrain
From the fire
Outside of desire
The evil deed
The deadened seed
That which sprouts the deadened weed
And leads me in err—
Outside the devil’s lair
I see my other half,
Still planted in the ground
I do not pound my chest
Instead my heart just rests
The pesticide inside me has not fully died
But I know that in the end I will have tried
To abide by the maxims I ascribe unto,
The sun breaks through
A reflexive hue
To change
To see if I can undo.

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